It’s summer. For me, it is an unusual one, full of travels, visiting friends, family, and living on the road. While all this is great and exciting, the question of writing always remains at the back of my mind, awakening my conscience.
How to keep up writing on a summer schedule, outside the normal routine? More importantly, why make the effort of doing it there and then instead of sinking in the adventures and impressions to write about it later on?
Photo by Jhayne
Among the reasons that imposed themselves and persuaded me it’s best to keep up:
1. Discipline
You’re already aware of how important discipline is for writing. If you’ve worked hard on developing a routine, why abandon it now? Of course, you may need to make changes in the times and places you do the work, but it’ll feel much easier to pick up your normal schedule when you come back to it.
You will have proved to yourself that you’re able to pull it off in various circumstances and not face the blank page and lazy fingers upon your return.
2. Capture Details
Even though it may seem straightforward that you’ll remember everything that’s happening, we all tend to forget details. Just like we forget dreams in a flicker of a second. And details, like the tone and feeling, are what make writing memorable.
Don’t save the overwhelming emotions of experience for later. Write about it there and then and capture the explosion. You can modify it in the future, but you’ll never be able to seize that initial excitement.
3. Fresh Thought
The whole point of holidays is to bring refreshment. By clearing up your head, resting your body and mind, facing a new environment and being isolated from the everyday surrounding and problems, you make up room for fresh thoughts.
Two years ago, I went on a four-day holiday and it brought about a transformation I didn’t expect. After feeling stuck for months back, I finally found my inspiration during those few days and thankfully I acted upon it immediately. When I came back, the writings I did then kept my inspiration flowing and maintained the motivation. It was a new chapter in my life – and I started it on a holiday.
This summer, being torn from everything familiar, I seem to be experimenting with different kinds of writing. One day I woke up with a ready poem in my mind, and I don’t even write poetry.
Yes, routines are needed in our lives, but sometimes the unusual circumstances can be an inspiration by itself and show us a different side of ourselves. Make room for these surprises and you’ll definitely learn something new.
PRACTICE
For fifteen minutes write about last summer. Pick an incident, a day, make a summary or any detail of your choosing. When you’re done, post it in the comments.
As usual, make sure to support others’ practices.
My daughter, Linnea, flew out from New York and landed in Denver. She drove down to my place, a five-hour journey, and met her sister, Eva, and me for a Southwestern Adventure. Our plan was to go to the Hatch Chili Festival in Hatch, New Mexico. This was the first road trip the three of us had taken. We loaded up the station wagon and settled my old cocker spaniel, Mischief, into the back. Along the way south we sang songs, talked, told stories, and slept. I drove. The girls reconnected. The weather was hot, and we visited some amazing places. We tasted wine in a small home winery outside of Santa Fe and gazed upon their two vats of wine in the garage so we could say we took the wine tour. I remember a little store we visited in Truth or Consequences where Linnea found the most marvelous pair of blue moccasins. They weren’t the right size, alas, and I told her we would find some in Santa Fe.
It was hot. The little dog panted. We wore as little as possible. But the chili was amazing. I never knew you could put chili in ice cream, popcorn, and chocolate, although I had seen chili beer. We drank gallons of lemonade from big tin cups and wandered among the vendors and people. We watched performers. We
attended an auction where Eva bid on a huge tub of chili and won! It was the biggest tub ever, and even though it was frozen, we had to figure out how to get it home. We watched the chili princess get crowned (the auction was to raise funds for her college education). Everywhere there were ristas and chilis for sale, roasted and unroasted. The town of Hatch smelled like chili peppers. The air buzzed with spice and flavor. It was a most amazing summer. Losing the water pump in Belen on our way back seemed like another adventure. First, the tow driver nearly dropped our car, and then he fell in love with Linnea. He said the chili in Belen was better than Hatch’s any day, and he brought a big tub of it to the Motel 8 where we were staying. So now we had two tubs of chili to take home. He must have poured a gallon of aftershave over himself, but after all, he had just spent all day in the hot sun towing cars. We never would have seen the Harvey House Museum if the car had sailed us smoothly home. An extra day in an extra town. A summer adventure that can never be recreated.
Sounds like a great time! Glad you had that chance to make such good memories.
these memories will last me well into old age. thanks!
Hey,,,Jay thanks you very much for your good write ,you know i saved your writing for my Final tomorrow .
Best regard
Sreynoch
I’m glad you enjoyed it! Every fall I buy roasted chilis and mail them to Linnea in New York so we both can remember our chili adventures.
Love the images appealing to sight, smell, sound! It seems we are more receptive to surroundings wildly different from our norm. I can truly picture your adventures (we were in the area about the same time!). Loved “poured a gallon of aftershave over himself”, “wore as little as possible” and the wine tour. Thanks for sharing the memory.
thank you!
What a beautiful story, Jay. Thanks for sharing. A dog named “Mischief” – that’s appropriate for mine also. Now I want some chili!
Isn’t it great when you get to experience local customs or events! Sounds like fun!
Last July we joined family for a weekend at Myrtle Beach. The beach has offered a key memory as far back as childhood at Cape Cod. Though a bit crowded, our weekend was full of moments: the young cousins delighting in each other’s once- a- year company, the nine-year olds learning to balance on surf boards, the youngest child asleep in her playpen with sand on her fingers and toes and the breeze ruffling her curls, a four-yr old carefully icing the cake. I was the observer, absorbing each precious moment. Far into the evening I was astonished to realize this occasion was a birthday celebration for me. Special barbeque was prepared by one son, music selections by another, a slideshow of breathtaking photos by a daughter, all happily within the sticky humidity of salt air. I was moved to tears like never before and simply focused on loving the moment. The moment was recorded in my diary and forever in my mind.
Wonderful!
what a great memory to cherish. i like the details of the children balanced against the smells, sights, and textures of the beach.
Thanks for your thoughts!
Thanks for sharing such a rich memory with us, Eva!
A lovely memory. Thanks.
We had to wait for the tide to come in. The spotlights on eight or so fishing boats bobbed at anchor as the full moon rose high over that rare and cloudless night. Low tide is not an overstatement in the Bay of Fundy. Truly, when the tide is full out the docks seem to have been built by fools, high and dry with no hope of reaching water. But patience is the rhythm of the Bay.
We waited by firelight. My uncle could not sit still. Every few moments he would leap to his feet and look down over the hill, searching for the glint of moonlight on water at the base of the docks. Not yet. When he could not stand it any longer, and when we were worn out from his pacing, we filed down the hill to the docks. The lobster trucks trundled into the loading area and slowly made ready for the catch they had already purchased and settled with the fishermen on their boats.
The first boat weighed anchor and putt putted toward the shore. The others followed, keeping a sober pace. When the first boat made contact with the dock, all hands sprang into action. Winches clanked and whirred as crate after crate of live, Fundy lobster was hoisted onto the docks. My brother and I, mere spectators, tourists in the village that gave us our blood, were underfoot. Everywhere I turned to retreat from the fork lifts and bundles of lobster traps, I was smack in the middle of another man’s work. My uncle danced about amidst the chaos and thirty years slid from his face. This jig of fishermen and goods and boats was his. He knew the steps from his early days, a New Foundlander by birth, the sea and the docks and bustle were his own skin.
The first boats were unloaded and piloted into their moors when the last boat approached the shore. Tonight was the last night of the lobster season and this boat carried the magic of the last boat of the last night. Sparks ignited on the deck and the spotlight was eclipsed by coloured fire exploding into the sky. Rockets whistled into the cool air and jeered at the moon. Coloured lights splashed across the surface of the water. The boom and crackle and hiss, slowed the men in their work as they took in this modest celebration of their livelihood.
Many Alma children were called to sea that night and many would go when their season came. I felt the call in my bones, but family and distance had long separated me from the salt air. An Albert County girl by blood only, I was a tourist with borrowed wind in my hair.
I loved reading this. “Patience is the rhythm of the bay” – nice.
A great scene, some lovely lines, like Paul said and ‘I was a tourist with borrowed wind in my hair’, I enjoyed it.
A gurgling mountain stream. Mild temperatures with low humidity. Sunny days, and brief rainy spells when we were indoors anyway. Does this get any better?
Last summer we pulled our travel trailer down to the Gatlinburg, Tennessee area. We stayed for a week at a campground that’s nestled up against the Smokey Mountains, and the stream I mentioned ran right past our campsite. The weather was nearly perfect except for rain showers that popped up at odd times, mainly at night.
I wasn’t actively writing every day like I am now, but I did get plenty of reading done sitting next to the stream. Plenty of napping too. We were not ready to return home at the end of the week.
So what could possibly disturb this idyllic scene? Why, karaoke, of course! Our campsite was also right across the road from the main building. Several evenings during the week, the campground owners organized a 2-3 hour karaoke session for the kids who were staying there (grownups, too, I suppose). The PA system they used had enough power to move our camper, so I’m glad we chocked the wheels.
While inside watching episodes of “The Closer”, we had to endure pounding drums, thumping bass, and off-key singing for far too long each night. At 11:00 they would finally give us a rest. At times I amused myself trying to guess the song based on only the drums and bass line. My wife was not amused at all.
We will definitely return to this campground another year; it’s situated in such a beautiful location in the foothills. And we will be certain to book a site in the back of the campground, far from the evening’s entertainment.
Oh Paul! If you can’t beat ’em – join ’em! Sounds like an idyllic setting though.
OK, enough Tom Jones, Kim :). I seem to remember my wife talking about sabotage, but we behaved ourselves.
Plenty of napping… Yes. Going to write… as soon as I have a good idea……. Zzz…
Haha, that’s the downside, isn’t it? Thanks for the note, James.
Last summer, I met the most amazing woman. She is a vivacious, fun loving, and beautiful person. She smile is infectious, and her laughter must be shared in. My favorite physical part of her, are her eyes. They show so much of what she is feeling. They sparkle when she is happy, snap when she is irritated, and won’t meet yours when she is unhappy. It is wonderful when they look at me and the pupils dilate. This shows me how happy she is to see me. Even more so than the curve of her lush, pink lips, and flash of snowy teeth.
I enjoy running my fingers through her luxurious auburn hair, basking in the sound of her almost purring. The feel of her tongue swirling over mine is like hot, wet silk. Her warm, and creamy skin feels like velvet, smooth and soft.
I fell in love with her through her writing. She is writing a werewolf novel and the way she weaves her words is captivating. Somehow, she is able to cause you to feel what her characters are. Her intelligence – my favorite part of her, period- is evident in the strength of her scenes, and her humor. I look forward to buying and hawking her novel.
All the love that history knows,
is said to be in every rose.
Yet all that can be found in them all,
Is less than what I feel for her.
There is someone that makes my heart go pitty-pat and skip a beat, or two. A person who makes my heart soar no matter what I’m going through. Someone that can change my depression into elation with but a word. There is someone that can cause me to grin like a fool with a simple, “Heeeyy!” This person has lovely red hair, a sexy smile, and the shine of intelligence & a love of life glowing in her wonderful, heart-stoppingly beautiful eyes. This person is a woman. Not just any woman, though. No, she is the woman: the epitome of her sex. She exudes grace, charm, wit, and class in every movement, gesture, and word.
She causes the world to make sense, and makes everything worthwhile. This woman inspires me daily to find new ways for me to express my love, and adoration, yet they never seem to be enough. She causes my very being to vibrate with joy and love with the merest glance. Words cannot adequately express what she does for me, and I struggle daily to bring her a fraction of the same. You want to know what the most amazing thing of all is? She deigns to love me back. Wow.
This lady causes me to count down days. I never did that before. I’m excited to do so, because she’s coming to see me! Who is this magnificent goddess of a woman, you ask? Well, I’m not gonna blurt is out, that would be just crude, and unworthy of her. Instead, I will leave you to wonder. 🙂
It’s raining, only 12 degrees and I’m sitting outside with my winter coat on and a hat (just in case the wind gets up). This is mid-July on a small island in the middle of the North Sea. This is my home. Where otters play on sandy beaches, artic terns race the skies, migrating birds flonk from wayward roads and cats dig igloos in the carrot patch to keep warm. I look closely at the rugged land in the distance and can see the nesting gulls like fleas on a rabbit, infesting a cliffside for the breeding months. Yes, this is summer. A couple of inchs away on the rich grass a small purple orchid raises a hand, is it safe to come out? I spot another one not far away. Yes, it’s safe, the rabbits are holidaying in Spain this year. I pull my hat down over my ears, at least it isn’t snowing…yet!
One of my best memories last summer was canoeing down the rivière du diable in the tremblant natural parc with a friend, we kept tipping our boat and then had to swim to the nearest bank with the canoe over our heads so we could empty it. We also found a natural tarzan rope, which you can believe was great fun!
Did you do the Tarzan cry? 🙂
A hundred blinking eyes stared back at me. The stars gleamed in the smoky night sky. The lights of aircraft flashed. They were like tiny lightning bugs floating on the wind of the lake. They were so small. Extended by the reflection of the lake, the great sky loomed above and loomed below. Earth, but a speck in the universe. Me, but a speck on Earth. My dreams, but a speck in the chaotic barrage of events we call life. The grey blades of grass waved in the breeze that rolled off the waters.
We spend all of our lives, all of our energy tending to these little things. I love those little perfect paragraphs that I write into my book. I love those little sons that follow me everywhere I go. I love those little moments that take my breath away. And, for a moment, I know I’m not the only one who loves those little things. God loves and cares most for those little things. How much does he love our little silly dreams? They are precious in his sight; we must never give up on them.
Very useful and supportive article. I wish I can do all of
that in a short period of time.